


Josh's Dream (The Treehouse)

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, I apologise for this, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Short and angsty, see end notes for triggers (which spoils the story but better safe than sorry) but yeah you've been warned. I'm sorry :)





	Josh's Dream (The Treehouse)

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed, proof-reading done by me. Proceed with caution

"Josh, honey. Please wake up, your father and I love you, okay? Wake up for us. Please!"

But I did not wake.

Hospital beds never seemed so uncomfortable, until I've lied in one for who knows how long. I desperately wanted to open my eyes and catch the tears which slid off my mother's face before they landed on me, and tell her that I love her. But it seemed like I no longer had any control over my body.

Conversations which had passed by my room in hushed tones were registered by my morphine-addicted brain as coming from my surgeon and my father. Even if I was conscious, I probably wouldn't be able to open my eyes. He said that I had six days left. More tears from above. Tired. Wanted to sleep.

And so, I did.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve always wanted a tree-house. One that I could stay in for hours and hours on end and just forget about things that usually couldn’t be forgotten. My dreams were saturated with the idea of creating my own safe haven that no-one could desecrate. My school exercise books were filled to the brim with what I’d do if I had one. I’d build everything by myself, no matter how long it takes.

Looking back, I always knew that I’d never be allowed to build one. Where I lived was a sprawling city with towering skyscrapers and roads choked with automobiles. Men and women in dark-coloured suits blurred into each other as they rushed around on the sidewalk, even as the skies transformed smoothly from blue to black.

I didn’t always live in an apartment. As a kid I’ve always lived in the suburbs, where there weren’t nearly as many cars and tall buildings. No-one really bothered keeping their doors locked. Barbecues were held every second Sunday, after the church service. It was only when the adults were chattering about inane topics that us kids would ride our bikes and scooters around and off the beaten track. Dust never had much chance to settle on Sunday afternoons, when the sun was hanging low in the sky and the screams of laughter was all that could be heard.

Before we moved away, I had a friend. A proper best friend, mind you. We did everything together, and our parents would often coo over how cute we were. As friends. I made friendship bracelets for Tyler and I, and he picked flowers off the streets to make dainty flower-crowns. We both always wore them, even if other kids at school always teased me about it. I never cared much for their opinions, since I didn’t like him in that way. At least, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. But things weren’t as complicated when you were an 11 year old. All that had to be worried about was if there were any popsicles in the freezer when you came back home from school, or if the teacher might check your homework the day you forgot to do it.

My teachers never approved of my dream to build a tree-house. I wrote a story about it one time, and my teacher told me that my dream was “unrealistic” and a lot of other long words grown-ups use. I remember Tyler comforting me. He said that my dream wasn’t silly at all, and that he’d help me build one if I wanted. That was the happiest I felt in a long time.

The week after that, we had to move away.

The memory of my argument with my mother and father is still as fresh in my mind as an open wound. The day started off ordinarily enough, with Tyler and I hanging out just outside of our houses. My parents called me inside.

“Josh, come inside please. Your father and I need to talk to you about something," said my mother.

"What is it, mom? You can just tell me now. Tyler won't mind, would he?", I inquired. His mumbled reply conveyed that he wouldn't mind, but that he should be leaving anyways. I said my goodbyes and went back into my house.

It was then they told me that we'd be leaving in six days. That was how long they estimated it would take for me to pack everything up and say goodbye to everyone and everything that resembled my old life.

I argued, obviously. They had said that it was all for me, and that I'd thank them later. They had decided to move so I had "a better chance at finding a good woman". I didn't care about that, I was 11 years old! And I'd never care about that. I'd never care about what my parents want me to care about, which is finding a decent job and getting "settled down", then marrying a girl.

When I told Tyler the next day, he cried on my shoulder for what seemed like hours. I didn't know what else to do, other than just hold on to him. What could have I said back then to him? Would those hypothetical unsaid words ever change anything?

Would that have changed the course of events which led to Tyler hanging himself from a noose, tied to the very tree I had planned to build my treehouse in?

And now, none of that matters anyways. Once again, I had six days left.

It was pills. Took the whole bottle with me as I left the apartment for the last time. The train ride to my old neighbourhood was long enough for me to decide that this was my only option. I swallowed them dry, and sat down underneath the shade of autumn leaves. The rustling of leaves underneath me and the whispers of wind above seemed to be singing a song. I closed my eyes.

If me being in a coma and never waking up meant I could stay with Tyler forever, then I don't think I want to wake up. And so, I dreamed again. I dreamt that my parents weren't as obsessed with me finding the "perfect woman". I dreamt that I was back with Tyler and nothing had happened. I dreamt that nothing bad had happened and this was all just a bad dream. Lastly... I dreamt about my tree-house.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for suicide, pills mention, casual homophobia (???), religion mention and tell me if I missed one.


End file.
